


bad bet, certain death

by neondragons



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M, one word prompt challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-04-19 01:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neondragons/pseuds/neondragons
Summary: They growl. They claw at each other and leave maps of red lines in their wake. They tug each other's hair and leave marks at each other's bodies. They make their broken edges fit even if it leaves them bloody and bruised. This is what they are.(at least, that's what Shinsuke tells himself)
Relationships: Kamui/Takasugi Shinsuke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently watching Gintama and thought this ship needs more attention! So, i thought, _hey, why not practice my writing with single-word prompts?_ And here we are. Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

_ **01\. — first** _

Their ships land in Lobobo as the first ray of the planet’s twin suns rise. Two of their ships are towed by the mothership, rocking gently as they float above luminous green ocean water. It has been weeks since the _Kiheitai_ and Seventh Division sailed for space, leaving Earth behind to recover after the war. Leaving rows upon rows of swords and parasols staked on the ground, never to be wielded by anyone again.

Shinsuke has no idea where they’re headed. Are they pirates now? Space pirates? Conquerors? A syndicate? Who even said his _Kiheitai_ and the brat’s division are traveling together? When did that happen?

Said brat’s reflection stretches his limbs behind Shinsuke, the infuriating (familiar) smile still plastered on his face. 

“Long night?” Shinsuke asks, blowing smoke from his pipe. He turns slightly, good eye raking over the Yato’s face and noting the remnants of sleep on the corner of those big (blue_blue_blue) eyes. 

A pink eyebrow rise, while a hand goes to rub an eye. Lobobo’s twin suns have fully risen, bathing Kamui in glaring light, softening his edges that looked sharp under the moonlight. Shinsuke doesn't take his eyes off the Yato. It's a rare sight to see Kamui up early in the morning, but even more uncommon to find him bathed in sunlight. 

“Wouldn’t you know?” Kamui asks, amused. 

The brat takes many steps forward, arm brushing over Shinsuke’s elbow (deliberately, because nothing about Kamui is ever incidental) and stops only when his nose is nearly pressed against the glass panes. 

“Oh, this planet’s not half-bad.” Kamui whistles, peering over the glass, wide eyes drawn to the island they're headed to. “Think they have fighting rings here?”

“Unless massage battles are to your inclination, no.” Shinsuke replies, taking a long drag from his pipe. A beat. Then, he exhales the smoke. It fogs the clear vision of the landscape, but he didn't miss how Kamui's reflection scrunch in annoyance. "Lobobo is a planet known for their hot springs and massage.”

“...Ah.” Kamui says, disappointment undeniable even with the short response. Shinsuke smirks behind the lip of his pipe. Batshit crazy brat. He catches Kamui’s eyes on their reflection and together, they avert their eyes. 

Silence reigns over them as they watch the ocean glitter under the sunlight. The waves lapping gently against their ship.

“They’re also known for their rambunctious eating contests.” Shinsuke offers.

Kamui snorts (Shinsuke pretends he doesn’t see the smile pulling on the other’s lips softening around the corner). He exhales a thin stream of smoke.

“You’re not going soft on me, are you, Shinsuke?”

Shinsuke scoffs. “Imagining things now, brat?”

It’s Kamui’s turn to let his eyes wander over Shinsuke’s form. Heavy and heady. Had that look came from anyone else, Shinsuke would have drawn his _katana_ and bled them dry. The way things are, Shinsuke let those half-lidded eyes roam, hyperaware of the heat in those eyes, leaving fire on its wake, scorching the skin he mapped out hours ago. 

Kamui laughs, “Don’t you go soft on me now, okay?” Kiss-bitten lips pull into a sharp grin, "I like you best when you're hard, after all."

"Insatiable brat."

“Hm," Kamui turns, stretching his limbs above his head, customary smile in place. "Worth a shot.” When he opens his eyes, Shinsuke is reminded of Earth's ocean from the distance. Wonders if this is what it's like to drown. 

(He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be now— _Earth? Space? Another planet?_)

"Will you accompany me outside, Earth-brawler_-san_?"

When Shinsuke exhales a thin stream of smoke, the weight eases off his ribcage. He _breathes._

"Need a babysitter?"

"Hmm, no. But you need a massage, old man. Your back is stiff as heck last night, yanno?"

"Go to hell."

"Come with me?"

Shinsuke swallows around the _where else would I go_ and rolls his visible eye. "Fine."

(—he's not alone now, though.)

(That's enough.)

  
  
  


_ **02\. — kiss** _

Kissing Kamui feels like absolution and destruction wrapped behind soft lips and sharp teeth. 

Everytime the gap between them disappears, Shinsuke feels the depravity that rattles his bones. It's a rush that he only has ever felt in battle. A rush that drives him forward— _deeper, harder_— clutching Kamui's face in his hands, tugging peach-painted hair. It's the same rush that makes his bones melt under his skin when Kamui pushes back, _bites_ back. 

Shinsuke under Kamui's fervent attention is a starving man. Desperate and weak, ferocious and brutal. 

Every slide of their lips is another battle. Teeth bared as warning. It's not gentle, it's not pretty. They kiss like their lips are their weapons, and their mouths the battlefield. 

It's bloody, it's messy and everything that he and Kamui are. 

They're not meant for soothing palms across rib cages. No whispers of sweet-nothings while fucking. They don't do it gently. 

They growl. They claw at each other and leave maps of red lines in their wake. They tug each other's hair and leave marks at each other's bodies. They make their broken edges fit even if it leaves them bloody and bruised. This _is_ what they are. 

(at least, that's what Shinsuke tells himself)

(if, hours later, Kamui burrows himself deep under many layers of blanket and clings to Shinsuke like a limpet, there are no witnesses to call out their lies but the stars)

  
  
  


_ **03\. — final** _

Everyone who has spent enough time with their _danchou_ knows of the blackhole he has in place of a stomach. 

Their clan's number may be gradually dwindling but Abuto's seen enough Yato men _and_ women to draw a comparison. They expend a boatload of energy everytime they fight. Those ground-breaking hits don't just come out of nowhere, you know? They need to recharge. They need battery! 

However, Abuto would be the first one to admit their young _danchou's_ appetite is _waaay,_ way off the charts. 

Even from his seat near the doors, Abuto hears a Kiheitai cook curse all the way from the kitchen. "Kamui-dono, please leave some for the rest of your men!"

"But, Kawakiri-san, why should I? If my men are ready to die for me in battle, shouldn't they give me their portions, too?"

Abuto bangs his face on the table, rattling their utensils. He did _not_ deserve this. 

"Oi, _danchou!_" Tenbo yells from another table, "did you eat our servings again?!"

Half of their tribesmen crows their indignance while Abuto and the other half, the _better_ half, roll their eyes. 

Beside him, Chanti sighs, shaking his head as their esteemed _danchou_ sends one Yato who tried to make a grab for a bowl of rice sailing through the air. "Should I send for the Kiheitai commander?"

Another Yato drops on the table next to theirs with a pained grunt just as Abuto catches sight of a purple _yukata_ entering the hall. He waves a dismissive hand. 

"Oh, Shinsuke!" Kamui greets, balancing atop an unconscious Yato tribesman's head. His hands occupied by a chopstick and a bowl of rice. 

The Kiheitai commanders stares down at their _danchou_ despite having the lower ground.

"Kamui." The man's eyes narrow at the bowl of rice. "How many servings have you had?"

"Not nearly enough."

Curse all damn brats who has an endless pit for a stomach and don't even feel the tiniest bit sorry for their subordinates! Abuto's going AWOL on the next planet they stop by! Maybe he can take a pod, find a quiet planet far, far away from his _danchou_ and live a quiet life in a small cottage by the lake. Sounds like a plan. 

"The exact number, Kamui."

Kamui hums. "Maybe fifteen? Sixteen? I feel like I can go 'til twenty. Kawakiri-san's _yakimeshi_ is really good today."

The Kiheitai commander's visible eye twitches. "Need I fucking remind you that your men needs to eat, you little shit? Do you think we can afford another grocery run every three fucking weeks? Ha?"

"Don't worry, Shinsuke. We can just rob another spaceship, right? We're space pirates, after all."

"...Get down."

"Huh?" Kamui asks, but gracefully drops in front of Takasugi Shinsuke, not letting a single grain of rice fall out.

"Kamui, get the fuck out of this hall. You're not eating with your men from now on."

Kamui gasps, "Shinsuke, are you trying to starve me?!"

Takasugi Shinsuke doesn't budge. "You're not getting anymore than six bowls of rice every meal. None of us are shitting gold bricks in here, you asshole. I'll sell your organs to the black market if you overeat again."

With an effortless tug to the _danchou's_ changshan, Takasugi Shinsuke drags the strongest Yato, out of the dining hall, leaving silence in their wake. Abuto knows their pain-in-the-ass _danchou_ could have remained immovable with the same bullheaded stubbornness he used to have in pursuit of killing Umibozou. Talk about surprises. 

Though, Abuto's not going to think about it. He's not paid enough for that, nope. Locking that detail away now, woop. 

Kawakiri, bless his pure samurai soul, tentatively peeks out of the kitchen, "Uh, _yakimeshi,_ anyone?"

  
  
  


_**04\. — numb**_

Rage has made a home in the crevices of Shinsuke's broken skeleton like liquid gold on shattered porcelain. He used to think it made him stronger, but after Oboro, after Utsuro, after Shoyou-sensei, after—

Shinsuke feels the weight of his rage and the bone-deep weariness that never seemed to go away. 

One thing people don't tell you about anger is, like getting an adrenaline shot, it gives you the power to destroy the world. For a moment, you'll feel pure rage bubbling under your skin, like molten lava. An unstoppable force that destroys everything in its path. Then, the next thing you know, you can't even breathe around the crushing weight under your sternum. 

He's bled his enemies dry, drunk and drowned himself in a river of crimson _and still—_

And still— 

His lungs are heavy with each drag of smoke he takes, but not even the wispy white smoke comes close to touching the pit of darkness that festers in his chest like an old wound. 

There's a hole under Shinsuke's rib cage and it aches. 

(Shinsuke is so, so tired) 

  
  
  


_**05\. — broken**_

Their ship has barely docked when Kamui makes an aborted sound behind him. 

"What is it." Shinsuke demands without turning away from the glass panels. 

Kamui sidles up beside him, waving his signature plum-coloured weapon. "I broke my umbrella."

Shinsuke fights off the impending headache by sheer force of will and squeezes his eye shut, hand twitching under the folds of his yukata for the missing kiseru. He _had_ made a promise to babysit today, after all. Shinsuke wants some goddamned quiet for once that he'd made concessions for a brat who can't stand the smoke. A day without smoking for a day without Kamui's harebrained attempts at annoying him to death? Consider him sold. 

Or, at least until Kamui pulls one of his idiotic stunts, then rather than his kiseru, Shinsuke's hands itch for his katana instead. 

"Ah, nevermind. I'll take Abuto's. I'll be right ba—ACK." 

Shinsuke grabs Kamui's scarf before the idiot can walk away and pushes him to the bed. When he can muster the sympathy, Shinsuke tries to feel sorry for the Seventh Division's vice-commander for dealing with Kamui's shit everyday for more than a decade. It's a fucking miracle none of his men has tried to decapitate Kamui when most of the time, Shinsuke has to stop his knee-jerk reaction of stabbing idiots around the younger Yato. 

"Shinsuke?" 

"Have your weapon fixed by your men." He throws a deep blue haori to Kamui's face and shoves the sandogasa he keeps for certain circumstances on Kamui’s head. "Wear those."

He notices Kamui's wearing his flat-shoes and kicks the boots out from under the bed.

"Wear your boots."

The Yato blinks at him once before shrugging on the haori. It looks big around the shoulders but otherwise covers a good portion of his arms down to the wrists. Lobobo has twin suns, Shinsuke remembers. 

"Take off your scarf unless you want to die of stroke, dumbass." 

"Wow, what's this Shinsuke?" Kamui says, amicably. Fake. "I didn't know you can turn into a mom! Should I start calling you _Mamasuke?_"

Shinsuke sneers. "Die, then."

In the end, Kamui took off the scarf, had worn his boots and the sandogasa and still ended up with a sunburnt face. 

"Regret throwing the SPF into the ocean, yet?" Shinsuke quips as they turn in for the night. 

"Keep talking and _you_ will end up with the fish, Shinsuke." Kamui returns. He winces when his jaw rubs on the pillow. 

"Next time, don't break your fucking umbrella."

"Shut up, _Mamasuke_."

(Kamui sleeps with his face smushed on the soft fabric of Shinsuke's yukata)

  
  
  


_**06\. — wings**_

The deep violet yukata with golden, hand-painted butterflies on its fabric is Shinsuke's favorite yukata. Kamui knows Shinsuke has plenty of the same design lined up in his closet, waiting for their turn to be worn. For a man with such power and influence, Shinsuke's wardrobe is horrifyingly limited to a handful of variations made of the same three or five articles of clothing. Even Kamui has more clothes and taste than that. 

There's the distasteful low-collared vest under a long black coat with gold and violet trimmings (Kamui doesn't know what's with Shinsuke's fascination with the colors) matched with black pants and boots. Tasteless. 

Shinsuke had looked like a fashion disaster. A walking, killing fashion disaster. 

Then, of course, Kamui remembers Shinsuke in drab hospital clothes. A light blue gown and utterly lifeless. Even remembering it leaves Kamui sneering in contempt. It didn't fit Shinsuke. 

That's why Kamui had sneaked in his quarters and stole the yukata from his closet. 

Why, he couldn't let Shinsuke fight in an ugly outfit, can he? 

He hid the yukata under his own cloak. Folded and rolled meticulously so he can tuck it under his belt without anyone noticing he's carrying it. Even when he was separated from his own division, alone in space with only the stars as company, he spent long hours tracing the golden butterflies and feeling the smooth outline of paint under the callused pad of his fingers. 

He didn't see Shinsuke fight in Rakuyou wearing the yukata after he threw it on him. Kamui didn't look back, then. He'd thought that was the end and he didn't allow himself to linger nor think what comes after. He'd come to Rakuyou for one purpose: to fight his father. Everything— _his stupid sister, Abuto, the Seventh Division, Shinsuke, himself—_ they were all irrelevant to his one, true goal. 

But, that was then. 

Now, Kamui stares as Shinsuke slips his arms on the sleeve of his yukata, the fabric flowing smoothly over his lean body. Everytime Shinsuke moves, the fabric follows and it looks like the golden butterflies are fluttering their wings, dancing on the surface of Shinsuke's yukata. 

There's no battle in the room, no enemies to defeat and the only purpose he wants to fulfill right now is to trace the butterflies on Shinsuke's yukata. 

With a practiced swing of his leg, Kamui straddles Shinsuke and pushes him until he's on his back on the bed. "Where do we go next, Shinsuke?"

The curtains are wide open and the starlight shines upon Shinsuke as their ship wades ashore the sea of heavenly bodies. 

When Shinsuke moves to pull Kamui's head to his shoulder, golden butterflies dance underneath Kamui's palms. He feels more than he hears the words spoken to his hair. 

"Anywhere." Shinsuke says, "Wherever we want."

Kamui smiles and he hopes Shinsuke can't feel the stretch of his lips on bare skin. "Sounds like a plan. Think you can keep up with me, old man?"

  
  
  


_**07\. — melody**_

There are moments when Shinsuke ponders the thought of giving up the sword on his hip. Sensei is at peace, the Kiheitai can function without him, Edo is in good hands— _what else is he keeping the sword for?_ He can be like Gintoki. Satisfied with domesticity and a found family he will protect, not through the blood of others, but through his own and a trusted wooden sword in his hand. Shinsuke can stop carrying out judgment and retribution like a bastardized angel of death. 

Or, he can be like Zura. Not exactly Prime Minister, but he can stay in Edo. Be the puppet master behind prominent figures to keep the peace they all fought so hard for. He's placed his pawns in the Bakufu before, how is this any different? He can help Zura make Edo better. He doesn't need a sword for that. If Zura doesn't kill any political party adamant on being his opposition (as far as Shinsuke knows, at least), Shinsuke can do the same. 

He can be like Sakamato— wait, no. Who's he kidding? Shinsuke _cannot_ be like Sakamoto. Under no circumstances, no matter how dire it may be, will he allow himself to be like that curly-haired idiot. 

Still, there are moments he ponders: _why?_

Why can't he let go of the blade in his hand?

The answer is this: because unlike his brothers, Shinsuke thrives in chaos and the blood of his enemies. 

Behind him, Kamui descends on their enemies, dragging down the calamity of heavens with his fists, leaving nothing but destruction and dead bodies in his wake. At first, they screamed because of arrogance. Now, they scream for mercy. Mercy that neither Shinsuke nor Kamui will grace them with. Not after the blunder that lead to the deaths of his precious Kiheitai and Kamui's division. 

Utterly unforgivable. 

Take an eye and Shinsuke shall decapitate the whole head. Kamui lives by the same principle. It's why they get along. It's why they _get_ each other. 

It's why Shinsuke cannot give up his sword. 

When the screams die out and Shinsuke's blade is dripping from hilt to the tip with blood, Kamui approaches him with the same smile he gives Shinsuke before they go to sleep. 

"Done?" Kamui asks, uncaring of the splatter of blood on his person. 

Shinsuke reaches out. With his bloodstained hand, he wipes a thumb across Kamui's cheek and smudges the blood, leaving a trail of crimson. "You had something on your face."

Kamui laughs and it's a symphony unlike anything Shinsuke's ever heard before. A requiem in disguise of a summer melody. 

Shinsuke wants to bottle that sound and keep it with him for as long as he’s allowed to.

  
  
  


_**08\. — rules**_

In the private recess of his brain, Shinsuke admits that Kamui is a sight to behold; garbed in deep blue silk and his bright hair adorned with silver threads woven into his braid. Everyone in the throne room turns their head to his direction, naturally drawn to his image, much like how the tides are helpless to the pull of the moon. 

There's a monster clawing at his chest, howling and rattling against the chains of his constraint. He had been possessive as a child, but Shinsuke never really outgrew the trait, now he feels it stronger than ever.

His grip on the glass tightens dangerously. 

In the middle of the crowd, Kamui's customary smile never wavers, not even when the tittering in the room shifts to accommodate him as its focus. Good. The more distracted they become, the less they pay attention outside where the Kiheitai and Seventh Division are doing their part of the job.

_A job,_ he reminds himself. 

_A job,_ he tells himself as an Amanto prince swaggers his way to Kamui and places a hand on his bare elbow. 

No punches are thrown. Kamui doesn't shrug it off. Instead, he follows the prince to the feast. 

Shinsuke takes a sip from the glass, barely appreciating the rich, bitter taste of liquor to make sure he has a clear view of the man's face. It wouldn't do for Shinsuke's katana to land on someone else's face. 

Later, when the whole palace is surrounded and infiltrated by their men, Shinsuke drags Kamui to what he knew as the royal chambers. 

It's empty and dark, the thick curtains drawn over the huge windows. Shinsuke leaves the door ajar and kisses Kamui, trapping him against the wall. Beneath his lips, Kamui surrenders to his insistent kiss and answers him just as fiercely, arms coming up wrap around his neck and hands tugging at the root of his hair without mercy. 

With a final, hard press of their lips, Shinsuke pushes Kamui until the Yato is sprawled unceremoniously on the wide expanse of bed, dazed blue eyes just as dark as the now wrinkled changshan he wore. It gives Shinsuke a powerful rush. Having Kamui look at him like that… what else can Shinsuke do but oblige?

He lets himself fall, nosing at Kamui's jaw, and bites. 

A strained chuckle escapes Kamui. "Fuck. Shinsuke, come on."

The ugly monster in his chest howls, struggling against Shinsuke's carefully crafted control, wearing down on him bit by bit, link by link, until the tethers finally shatter. Shinsuke inhales all of Kamui; the expensive perfume on his skin, the smell of new silk, the repulsive saccharine scent that clings to Kamui— Shinsuke wants to erase all of it.

He laughs against Kamui's hair (it smells just as fucking sweet). "I am going to ruin you."

Kamui tugs at his hair, and the pain travels from Shinsuke's hair roots to his toes. "Can you?"

It sounds like a challenge. Shinsuke catches soft lips that taste of strawberries. He sinks his teeth and Kamui gasps under him. Then, he bites back. 

Blood trickles down their lips and there's no way to tell whose. Shinsuke smears the red on Kamui's lower lip, erasing the sweet taste and replacing it with something real. 

"Will you let me?" He asks, thumb pressing down on Kamui's pulse. "Will you let me ruin you, Kamui?" 

Kamui laughs. "Do your worst."

  
  
  


_**09\. — chocolate**_

"Shinsuke, why is your planet so… red? And full of hearts?" 

Shinsuke glances at Bansai, who starts humming loudly under his breath, avoiding his gaze. He resists the urge to sigh, and instead moves to start a smoke, until he remembers his company. The kiseru goes back under the sleeves of his kimono. Kamui meets his eyes guilelessly and Shinsuke curses in his head. 

"It's Valentine's Day." he says. 

"... and?"

"It's Valentine's Day." Shinsuke says again, gritting his teeth. 

The streets of Edo are lined with red streamers shaped in hearts hanging overhead while every shop windows are lined with chocolate and candies wrapped in red, glossy paper. Every corner they pass by, they are met with simpering couples clinging to each other holding all sorts of flowers and presents wrapped in red. Everything is red and Shinsuke wants to stab someone. 

Kamui's eyebrows draw higher. "That doesn't mean anything to me." He pokes Bansai on the shoulder, which Shinsuke knows through first-hand experience, feels like a drill digging a hole through flesh and bone. He tries not to feel too vindictive as Bansai shrieks. He fails. The sound is music to his ears. "Bansai, what's Valentine's Day? Why is it so red?"

Bansai clears his throat. "It's an occasion for…" His second-in-command trails off. "It's for people with significant others. Couples exchange chocolates, flowers and go on dates."

"Oi," Shinsuke protests, visible eye darting to Kamui for a quick second before kicking Bansai's knee. "Don't make up shit. Valentine's isn't just for couples."

Alas, Kamui's already entranced by the prospect of chocolate. And he's looking at Shinsuke. Damn it. Shinsuke ought to fire every single one of his men except the cook. 

"Shinsuke, I want chocolates." Kamui demands, spinning the umbrella in his hand.

Bansai, the fucking asshole, adds, "Dates also mean free food."

Kamui nods decisively. "And dates. Shinsuke, you will give me many chocolates and dates."

"Oi, we're not even…" Shinsuke trails off as he meets Kamui's eyes and sees them narrow and sharpen. God fuck it all. He sighs and bids farewell to a huge chunk of his money. It's been nice having a wallet thick with a wad of Earth money for ten minutes since leaving the ship. He's going to come back broke. "Fine. Let's go."

He doesn't think about how Kamui's eyes land on him as soon as the word _couple_ escapes Bansai's mouth. He doesn't think about how Kamui apparently thinks of him as his _significant other_. Of course not. He is only indulging Kamui because it's a crime not to have chocolates on Valentine's day. He's doing it for himself as much as he's doing it for the Yato with a bottomless pit for a stomach. 

"Hey, can I go with—" Shinsuke glares at Bansai as he attempts to follow them. "Okay. I'll leave you to it, then. Enjoy."

Kamui grins. "I will!" 

Five minutes into their "date", Kamui walks the street of Kabuki-cho with a bouquet of flowers larger than his torso. Shinsuke doesn't know shit about the language of flowers and bought the largest, most obnoxious arrangement he saw when Kamui tugs at his sleeve and whined about his damn flowers. 

"Shinsuke, are you sure this is the biggest one?"

"Have you seen anyone carrying a bouquet larger than yours?"

"Well, no."

"There's your answer."

"If I don't have the largest—"

Shinsuke rolls his eyes. "You do." Kamui frowns when he catches the gesture. Shinsuke hurriedly placates him. "If you see anything larger, we'll buy it, too." He adds, for good measure, "Greedy brat."

Kamui grins and Shinsuke bites his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something stupid. Something like: _the flowers matches your eyes._ Because it's not true. The flowers are too powdery, too soft. Kamui's eyes have the ocean in them with how blue they are and to compare it to flowers is the greatest insult. 

Still, they're blue. So there's that. Better blue than red, even though they don't match his intended receiver. Red only looks good when Kamui wears it on his skin but Shinsuke's had enough of the color today. 

They pass by the central market, with Shinsuke trailing after Kamui as the other buys chocolate after chocolate on every stand. 

Shinsuke resists a groan. "Oi, are you planning to buy every chocolate?" 

Kamui turns, the tail of his braid swishing to his other shoulder. "I am. You have the money for it, don't you, Shinsuke? Besides— oh, Shinsuke! Look!" He points and Shinsuke follows. 

_WIN THE HEART OF KABUKI-CHO FOR YOUR VALENTINE— 900kg of chocolate if you think you know your partner best (^_<)〜☆_

"No." Shinsuke says. 

Before Kamui can reply, Shinsuke hears a voice— two voices, actually, that are too familiar. 

"Oi, Zura! Play with me! Gin-chan wants the chocolate!"

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura. And you can't finish all that chocolate, Gintoki. You'll get diabetes and die before you can eat it all." 

A third, whining voice adds, "I'll help! So, play the game with Gin-chan and win the chocolate for me, yup!"

"Leader, young girls like you should keep their teeth healthy and strong or else, you'll end up like Gintoki with rotting teeth before your thirtieth birthday."

"Oi, oi, Gin-chan's teeth are the epitome of all dental commercials! Toothpaste brands ask me to model for them, yanno! Don't you dare sully it with your lies, Zura!"

"Gin-san, Kagura-chan, where would you even put that thing?! The apartment's ceiling is too low for that!"

Amidst the crowd forming around the event, that curly, white-perm is unmistakable. Zura is with the idiot, too. With the two kids Gintoki plays house with. The girl, he vaguely recalls, is Kamui's sister. They don't notice him and Kamui, though. Too busy arguing with each other and shaking off fingers inside nostrils. 

Shinsuke looks at Kamui, at his narrowed eyes, and says, "No."

Either he's not paying attention or his hearing has significantly dropped since entering Earth's atmosphere, Kamui ignores him. "I want the chocolate, Shinsuke. I'm going to have the chocolate." Kamui points the flowers threateningly at him. "I won't let my stupid sister and her stupid Earth brother have the chocolate."

"I'll buy you a bigger one."

"No."

"Kamui."

Kamui smiles, "_Shinsuke._"

Ah, goddamnit. How has this become his life? Shinsuke pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fine." He exhales through gritted teeth. "Fine."

  
  
*  
  


"Ah, better luck next time, eh, Bakasugi?" Gintoki leers, taking a huge lick on the chocolate. Gross. 

"This chocolate tastes like victory and tears of my enemy, yup! Oh, Kamui, you're here!" The girl, radiating the same disgusting smugness that is no doubt learned from Gintoki, takes a huge chunk of chocolate with a bite and wiggles her fingers in a mocking wave. 

Zura sighs, tucking his hand inside his kimono sleeves. "Please don't rub your victory on your enemies' faces, Leader, Gintoki. It's in bad taste." With a swift throw, a sludge of chocolate lands on top of Shinsuke's head. Katsura laughs mockingly, hand smeared with melted chocolate, "Everyone knows you should throw their defeat to their faces! How's that defeat tastes, aa, Takasugi?!"

Shinsuke doesn't bother wiping the sticky confectionery away. 

He unsheathes his katana and _attacks._

  
  
*  
  


"I really wanted the chocolate."

"... we'll find a bigger one."

"But I wanted _that one._ Now my stupid sister is eating it."

…

"They're enroute to Gintoki's flat. Let's bomb the chocolate."

"Can we throw in bleach so they can't sneak a lick while cleaning?"

"Sounds good. Let's go."

  
  
*  
  


When they climb up their ship's ramp, their men's eyes turn to follow them. Abuto sighs under his massive green umbrella. 

"Danchou, why are you covered in chocolate and petals?"

"Abuto, prepare the whole Seventh Division: we'll annihilate all of Edo."

Bansai raises an eyebrow to the side. "Shinsuke?"

"Ready the Kiheitai, bomb the whole place. Start with Gintoki's flat and eradicate all witnesses. Make sure Zura and his faction are _wiped out._"

In the silence that follows, Matako emerges from the ship, yawning and stretching her arms overhead. She sniffs once. Twice. 

And shrieks, "Why does the deck reek of bleach?!"

  
  
  


_**10\. — nostalgia**_

"Where did you learn to braid hair?" 

The hands smoothing his hair doesn't falter. Shinsuke continues the repetitive downward caress of his callused fingers slipping between the strands of Kamui's hair. It catches a tangle and Shinsuke smooths it out, as he has done a hundred times before, with the same patience and gentleness that not even Kamui has given his hair. 

Shinsuke doesn't answer for a few moments, and only when the knot is free does he speak. "I grew up with Zura." He pauses with the same old reluctance that accompanies his voice when speaking of the past. Kamui waits for him. "Before the war, he liked flowers in his hair. He'd lie down in a field while Gintoki and I tried our best not to fuck his hair up. Of course we fucked it up."

"Zura… the Rampaging Noble? Katsura Kotarou?" Kamui asks. He's heard Shokaku mention the name with a reverence you'll find in a boy with a crush. He's also vaguely aware that Shinsuke grew up with childhood friends. Or rivals? Kamui scrunches his nose, thinking of the last time he saw them interact. Childhood annoyances, it seems, is the better description. 

Shinsuke separates his hair into three lines. "Aa." 

The quiet that befalls them lulls Kamui enough to close his eyes and lean back on Shinsuke's crossed legs. The drawn curtains doesn't help the lethargy that settles in his bones: it gives the illusion of timelessness. A world disconnected from the galaxy outside. A pocket universe existing in Shinsuke's room where Kamui can close his eyes and remember without the weight of the world coming back to crush him under its weight. Here, they are untouchable. Here, Kamui's memories don't hold him. Here, they can't hurt him. 

So, Kamui _remembers._

The hands braiding his hair is not as nimble, too many calluses that only a samurai can have, but the gesture is familiar and Kamui, with his eyes closed, can recall snapshots, if not exact moments, when someone else used to do the same thing for him. 

His hair has always been an intimate part of his life. As a child, it was to emulate the person he held dear and have his mother cradle him while she combs her careful hands in his hair. 

_It's not the same!_ Kamui remembers yelling to his mother, _Your hair is much prettier, mami!_

His mother had laughed _Now, now, Kamui, don't flatter your mother so much or I'll grow a big head and I won't be able to fit in the house anymore!_

_It's okay,_ he had said, _we'll find a bigger house so we can still be together!_

He goes through whatever memory he has left of his mother with a detachment of an outside viewer. There are many things he can't remember (was the window open? had mother's voice already turned weak with her sickness?) but he recalls the color of her hair with the same vividness of a recent memory. 

It's the same shade as his stupid sister's, after all. 

"You're smiling. Stop. You look stupid." Shinsuke says. 

Kamui's smile grows. "You can't even see my face."

A knot forms at the base of his skull as Shinsuke starts braiding. "I don't need to."

_Kamui, you got into another fight again, didn't you? _

"Did you know my mother smoked?" He blurts out. He doesn't mean to, but he can't bring himself to regret, either. Shinsuke hums and he continues, "She has green eyes, too. Like you."

Behind him, Shinsuke tugs at his hair playfully. "Are you comparing me to your mother? Not a good comparison, brat."

If not for his hair, Kamui would have punched Shinsuke. Instead, he settles for pinching the knee on his side. "Of course not! My mother has great hair, unlike you." Shinsuke hums again. Kamui slaps his knee this time. "Say something, Shinsuke."

"I like your hair better." Shinsuke drawls. 

"You haven't even seen my mother's."

"I saw her picture on your bag, once." Shinsuke replies, utterly unapologetic. "You look a lot like her."

"No, I don't. My stupid sister has her face and hair."

"No. You look like her. You're both…" Shinsuke trails off. 

"We're both?"

A beat passes. "You look like her." Shinsuke repeats. 

_That voice, that face. Don't force me to keep hearing and seeing them. _

Kamui feels hollowed out, ripped open and torn apart, his interior bare for all to see. His breath catches in his throat until he remembers there's no one else to see him, save for Shinsuke, and he already has seen all that there is to see in Kamui. He begins to breathe again. The fingers on his hair are unwavering. 

There are few things that can bring Kamui assurance and this, whatever this tight, breathtaking emotion that Shinsuke invokes with his presence, Kamui can deal with it later. Much later. Maybe he's just hungry. He'll eat, then see Shinsuke to check if his assumptions are correct. 

For now, he's content to swim in the pool of memories he has of his mother and drown in the deep, steady cadence of Shinsuke's voice. 

Kamui leans back fully against Shinsuke's chest, uncaring of the ruined braid and the irritated click of Shinsuke's tongue. 

"Let it be." He murmurs, turning his head to whisper against Shinsuke's flesh, and simultaneously hates and loves the smell of smoke clinging to the samurai. "Shinsuke, didn't you say you're not going to smoke anymore?"

"I did.

"So why do you still smell of smoke?"

A pair of arms come up to wrap around him. Kamui shifts to get comfortable, fitting their edges together. 

"I wasn't smoking. It was Bansai."

"Ahuh, sure. I believe you. _Totally._"

"Fine. I lit up a stick. But it was Bansai's."

Kamui looks up and smirks, "Just one stick?" 

Shinsuke mirrors his expression, "Brat. Fine, I had three."

"Thought so." He says, triumphant. "You know, I don't understand what the fascination with vices is all about." 

He recalls instances when he was little, long before Kagura was even born, when he found his mother standing before the open windows of their home, fingers curled around the length of her kiseru and a thin stream of smoke coming out of her lips. She'd always stop when she noticed Kamui standing by the door. She'd hide the kiseru at the bottom of the highest drawer then give him the brightest smile asking _did you have fun playing outside, Kamui?_ or _are you hungry, Kamui?_

And Shinsuke, try as he might to play it off as a hobby and nothing more, Kamui still catches his minute movements, barely a twitch of his hand, reaching for something smaller, narrower than the hilt of his katana. He still remembers the first time they met, crossing each other's path in the hallway of a Harusame ship. Shinsuke reeked of smoke, then. 

Kamui sniffs. Shinsuke still smells of smoke, but not nearly as strong as he had once been. 

Then, there's Hosen. The old man didn't smoke much as far as Kamui's memories can tell. No. Cigarettes and tobacco aren't Hosen's vices. It was women. Or, if Kamui would like to be specific, one woman in particular. Going as far as giving up everything his nature stands for; a Yato living underground with idle comforts. The very thought of doing the same makes Kamui gag. 

How does something meant to be a pastime end up holding a semblance of control in a person's life? 

Behind him, Shinsuke chuckles. "What's there to understand? Some people just have them. Then there are people like you."

"Like me?"

"Yeah. Virtuous people."

Kamui kicks Shinsuke within their tangled legs. "Virtuous? I killed seven people yesterday."

Shinsuke snorts. "I never said you're perfect."

"Do you still like me, though?" 

"Would you kiss me even if I reek of smoke?"

"I've kissed you plenty while you're smoking."

"Exactly." Shinsuke leans down and pecks his lips. Before Kamui can return the kiss, Shinsuke's already pressing his lips on Kamui's temple. "And who cares about dead bodies? I don't."


	3. Chapter 3

**_11\. — heartbeat_**  
  
A flutter of heartbeat and a shudder of breath. It's all that it takes to be considered alive. 

For all the misery and hassle it takes to be alive, it takes surprisingly little effort to end one's life. A clean cut to the throat, a slick stab to the heart, Shinsuke is all too familiar with feeling the last, struggling beat of a heart, whether it be by his blade or beneath his palms. Life is too fleeting. One second, a person is alive, but one miscalculation, a lapse in judgment, and it’s death for them. 

This is one of those moments. Shinsuke made a miscalculation. 

He’s aware of Bansai’s presence behind him, always a step behind, always ready to receive Shinsuke’s orders without fail, and before them lies a corridor littered with unmoving bodies of the Kiheitai. Blood paints every corner like a particular macabre artwork. There’s no surface left uncovered. It’s red everywhere he looks. He takes a step forward and the blood makes a sickening, thick sound under his slippers. Uncaring of the bloodstains he’s getting on his yukata, Shinsuke kneels before a corpse. 

There’s nothing in the place where his grief and pain should be. All he feels is rage. 

“Bansai,” he calls, gripping the hilt of his katana. 

“Your orders?”

“Leave no one alive.”

**_12\. — stranger_**  
  
Jaav can’t stop shaking. 

_Thud. _

Someone shouts behind the barricade. He can’t understand their language— they’re foreign men. Samurai, he hears another soldier whisper before they were surrounded. _Humans,_ they mocked, _they’re easy prey, didn’tcha hear? _

_Thud. _

Jaav quotes all the prayers his _Guma_ taught him when he was a boy. Someone yells for him to shut up but Jaav does not. He raises his voice and prays louder. He will die tonight and he will die here, surrounded by other soldiers who thought themselves indestructible. He hopes the claws of death come for him fast. He has seen what became of the bodies of his fellow _Gnardu_ who were unfortunate to be too slow, worn down by their arrogance. Their bones crushed and peeking out of their flesh, heads smashed in, brain matter and blood splatters covering the walls of their bases. Heads falling off their bodies and rolling on the ground where blood flows generously out of dead bodies, forming a shallow pool. 

A clean bullet is a distant wish, he knows. 

_Thud. _

The shelter is meant to withstand aerial attacks; three feet of reinforced steel cover them from all sides, and yet, the growing dent on the barricaded steel doors just proves that nobody accounted for the Yato Tribe traveling with the humans.

_Thud._ The dent grows larger. Everyone around him is shaking. Those who have weapons are putting on a brave front but they know what’s out there. Their walls wouldn’t last long, they wouldn’t even give them a moment’s time to breathe. 

The doors finally give and surrenders to the force behind them. A shot rings out behind Jaav and he doesn’t have to look to know what happened. He would have done the same if he has the courage. He recites another passage of prayer under his breath. 

When the dust clears out, two strangers stand before them. 

A lone pair of Yato and Samurai, each holding their respective weapon. 

“Did I break your doors too fast?” the Yato asks amicably in Jaav’s mother-tongue. His accent is rough and catches on to certain words but his voice is light and clear. “I heard you _Gnardu_ like to pray but my friend here doesn’t like to wait.” He smiles, hefting the umbrella on his shoulder. Jaav’s breath rattles out of his lungs. _Jirug, cleanse my soul_. “Well? Aren’t you going to fight? At least try to make it a challenge after you all went through the trouble of killing many of our men.”

Jaav’s shaking hands reach for the pendant his _Guma_ gave him before he was drafted as chaos breaks out around him. He bows his body and touches his forehead to the ground, uncaring of how bodies drop around him like puppets and how they step or fall on his back. 

Death is coming and Jaav shall wait for its judgment on his knees, hoping the arrogance he was forced unto is purged and long may he be forgiven for surrendering his last breath.


	4. bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be #10 but i scrapped it lol

Cradled in the circle of his arms, Kamui sleeps. He feels every puff of warm breath against his collarbone with an awareness he's only remember using on his _kata_ and loathe as he is to admit the disadvantages of his physiology, Shinsuke's heart pounds underneath his rib cage because of their proximity. 

Their legs are even woven within the curves of each other, he notes, staring at their limbs. 

_When did that happen_, he thinks. Kamui is a tactile creature; he clings, he always likes to have a point of contact between them. Shinsuke, on the other hand, is not. 

Sometimes, even the barest brush of his skin against another person has him drawing his sword and cutting off a limb. It was the worst during the war. Unlike every other soldier who craved another person's touch, craved the warmth and pulse that could only come from a living person when every night, every day, they were surrounded by their fallen comrades, Shinsuke abstained from whores or even the occasional _helpful hand_. He has sliced many hands that tried, would have chopped off more if the war didn't require soldiers with both hands. 

His control of his violent tendencies have grown since then, but it doesn't mean he holds himself back from his impulses. His men know better than to touch him casually. They know better than to brush against him in the hallway. It creates an illusion of space between him and them. Shinsuke, their leader, and _them. _

He's aware of what it must look to them. He doesn't do it out of some misplaced sense of superiority but however they interpret his dislike of physical contact is none of his business. As long as they abstain from doing it, Shinsuke doesn't care what gossip they spread about him.

And then, Kamui crash-landed on his war-torn life.

Touching Kamui hadn't always come to him with the ease of a long time habit. Kamui, impulsive and bullheaded as he is, coveted Shinsuke with the same attitude he chased the _Strongest_ title. When the Yato crashed their lips without grace and thought, just pure desire and inability to communicate his emotions, Shinsuke almost decapitated him. Of course, that didn't happen. Kamui had caught the blade in his fist before it even touched the collar of his changshan. 

"Shinsuke, I want you." Kamui had whispered, brows furrowed and lips downturned. He had looked so confused in that moment that despite the rage simmering under his skin, Shinsuke forces himself to calm down. "I thought you wanted me, too. Or am I wrong?"

Shinsuke remembered prying his blade away from Kamui, finger by finger, smearing bright crimson on steel with their hands even though he wanted more than anything to jump out of his skin. "You weren't." The frown on Kamui's face had deepened and by all the stars in the goddamned galaxy, the Yato looked so young, it made Shinsuke want to cut his own skin open. He wanted. He _wanted_ Kamui as much, probably even more so, than Kamui wanted him and it dawned on him he needed to speak if he didn't want the other to turn away. "I want you. However, you can't just kiss me. Or touch me." 

"Why?" A simple question born out of curiosity and not by petulance. "Tell me."

_Because I don't like to be touched. I want to touch you and kiss you, too. But not yet. _

Shinsuke prided himself on being articulate. He had a way of words that could make grown men and women devote their lives to him. But in that moment, he had been at a loss. He wanted to pull Kamui so close to make him hear how loud his heart was beating with the prospect of their proximity, at the same time, he wanted to put a blade between them. 

Kamui had taken a step back and Shinsuke wanted to cross the distance that suddenly appeared between them.

"You don't like being touched. By me?"

"By everyone."

"But you _want_ to touch me?" 

"Yes." Shinsuke had gritted out. 

Kamui had nodded. "Okay. I'll see you around, then."

And the conversation was over. Kamui had turned around and walked away. Shinsuke had thought he lost all his chances. 

He comes back to the present when Kamui shifts, curling around Shinsuke like he wants to mold their bodies together. He was a fool to think Kamui would leave it at that. He should have known better than to assume someone like Kamui would give up something— someone he coveted. 

What followed was a slow… courtship? Experiment? Whatever it may be, it was full of tentative poke of fingers to clothed skin. Or the occasional question of _Ne, Shinsuke, can I…?_ and Shinsuke would curl their pinkies together and Kamui would hum cheerfully for the whole day. 

It was very slow, but it yielded results. Though, there may be bad days in between when Shinsuke can't stomach the warmth of another person's skin on his, losing Kamui is not in any of his immediate plans. They adapted. They… talked. Communicated. They can overcome their issues now. 

"Shinsuke?" comes Kamui's sleep-addled murmur. 

He hums. 

"Nothing. Don't leave me."

Shinsuke smiles. "Never."

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt list can be found here: https://givethispromptatry.tumblr.com/post/188076179385/writober-list


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